Discovery
by Thobbit
Summary: In Mirror Dance, Bel admitted that it and Tung had known for years about MIles' secret identity. Ever wondered how they found out? And what that conversation looked like when they did? Wonder no more! Just read, enjoy, and review!


_A/N: Same format as my Vorkosiverse drabbles - 1 scene/conversation that I eel is missing from the books. It's just a bit longer. I own nothing! :( Enjoy! :) _

Discovery

Bel lifted its hand to knock the door, eying the plaque with disgust. Had false gold _really_ been necessary? _Commodore__Tung__**, **__Commanding__Tactical__Officer_ it's ass. For a moment, Bel considered walking away. No, Tung had a right to know. Regretfully, it knocked twice.

It knocked softly, with the faint hope that if Tung was in there (because Bel hadn't made any other effort to find him, had just come straight from the Admiral's office, and Tung was often out doing rounds or fraternizing with his old soldier buddies or whatever), he wouldn't hear (oh, please, a valid excuse!)

"Come in," came a reply, in Tung's characteristically terse bark. Bel indulged in a tiny distasteful sigh, and went in.

Tung's office was neat, with none of the stray papers and disarray that characterized Bel's room. He snapped down the comconsole display as Bel entered, but it still caught a glimpse of a paused game of Stratego. "Captain Thorne," he greeted coolly. "Can I help you with something?"

Now that it actually had to say something, Bel floundered a bit. "I needed some flimsies," it began.

"So go to Stores," Tung interjected boredly. "Is this important?"

Unusually, Bel hesitated. It could still back out, lose a bit of face, and forget about the whole thing. After all, was this really its secret to tell? No, of course not. Its hand tightened around the objects hidden there.

"Shut it, Tung," it snapped. "Hear me out." Tung raised an eyebrow and waited. Bel continued, "I ran out of flimsies, from printing out some nineteen tons of reports—unlike some of us, who only use our comconsoles to play games—"

"_I _am the Commanding Tactical Officer of this fleet," Tung interrupted. "Thus, I train on tactical strategy games."

"Yes, I saw your plaque," Bel replied acidly.

"Just tell me about the flimsy shortage, herm," said Tung irritably.

"Personal flimsy shortage," it corrected. "I didn't want to distract you from your all-important gaming,"—Tung made a noise of protest, but Bel bulldozed on—"so I went to the Admiral's room, which is next to mine, to see if I could borrow some from his printer. Yes. invasion of privacy and all that," Bel ignored Tung's glare, "but I just went to his desk. I didn't see any on top, so I hunted around a bit, maybe opened a drawer or two—"

Tung actually stood up to better direct his glare. "Flimsies my ass, Bel, you were snooping because you have a crush on him!"

"I did need flimsies, I still do, and you're welcome to look in my office to see if I have any!" Bel replied with a glare of its own. "The _point _of all this, which I would get to if you'd stop interrupting me, is that I found these in the bottom of one of the drawers!" It opened its hand in Tung's face. He tried to look away, starting,"I refuse to be an accomplice—" but stopped when he saw what it was in the captain's hand. The things glittered faintly, and Tung knew them on sight. He once had a communications officer who kept identical pins in an envelope under his mattress. A pair of silver eyes, in the design of the Egyptian god Horus.

Tung sat down in his chair. He sighed, and Bel couldn't tell whether it was annoyed or accepting. "Well, I guess that locks it," he said woodenly.

Bel was thrown for a moment. "What?" it asked, hand drifting back down to its side and closing once more over the eye pins.

"Admiral Naismith." responded Tung. "You know what those eyes mean, don't you?"

"Of course I do!" Bel replied indignantly. It sat in the chair across the desk from Tung. Unfortunately, it didn't provoke the usual subject-changing squabble. "They're..." it hesitated, not wanting to say it out loud. "They're the badge of Barrayaran Imperial Security." It paused again. "What exactly does this 'lock' about the Admiral?"

"What do you think?"

"Well, there are several options. My favorite is the one in which he stole them." Bel smiled wanly, but Tung only grimaced. "Or he got them as payment for one of the more unusual missions. Or..." Now Bel grimaced too, and tried not to look despondently at the floor. "Or he's been an agent the whole time, playing us, and we haven't done a single mission that hasn't been for the benefit of the Barrayaran Empire."

Tung sighed again. "You're close."

Bel looked sharply at him. "What. you know the Admiral's secret identity? Don't tell me you're part of the Inner Circle, now."

"No, I just like military history." Bel stared at him until he went on. "Have you ever noticed how Baz and Elena always call him "milord"? Sometimes even Arde?"

"Ye-e-ess," replied Bel, trying to recall. "Yes, I've noticed that. I figured it was some strange inside joke."

"Not quite. I'm pretty sure it's a legal relationship."

Bel continued staring in mild confusion, though of course it tried to look on top of things. "As in, vassals and feudalism and lawyers from Hell?"

Tung countered, "As in, our Admiral Miles Naismith is Barrayar's Lord Miles Vorkosigan."

It blinked. Then it blinked again. Bel even considered shaking its head, as if to clear it, but decided that would look too stupid. "So...he's related to the Prime Minister?" Bel would be the first to argue that military history was dull as a desert, but the name Vorkosigan still resonated. "The 'Butcher of Komarr', who single-handedly led the retreat from the failed Escobar invasion?"

"Yes. His son, to be exact."

"And how exactly do you know this, o master of military history?"

Tung sighed again. "I figured it out. I wasn't sure, I though he might be a clone from some replacement plot at first, but the evidence is too much. The "mi'lord"s—they're literally sworn to him, I have no idea how Arde got sucked into it—he's Betan as sand." Bel snorted, and Tung went on, "For god's sake, he named us after the bloody mountain range. The Cetagandans and Barrayarans fought each other all over the Dendarii Mountains for years, smack dab in the middle of Vorkosigan District."

Bel couldn't believe it. Wouldn't believe it. Hell, it just didn't _want_ to believe it. It racked its brain for long-forgotten lectures in that College Course from Hell, "Cultures of the Nexus". "So," it said slowly, "our Admiral's like a prince or something?" It looked at the hand holding the pins. "A prince in espionage?"

"The Barrayarans prize civil service very strongly," Tung pointed out. "I'm pretty sure the espionage was unintentional, too. That first time, when he took over the fleet—if that wasn't spun desperately out of thin air, I'll eat that door plaque that has you so huffy." Bel studiously ignored that. "No, that was an accident, but they have a law or Barrayar about a Count or Lord not having a private army. I think we got him in trouble, and the Dendarii Free Mercenaries were swept into ImpSec in a fit of fact-fudging and nepotism."

A tiny lightbulb went on over Bel's head. "So that's why he disappeared for three years. We were meant to disappear too, like a bad dream. Instead, he comes back and takes over again, intent on..." The lightbulb shown brighter. "On rescuing the Barrayaran emperor!"

He cracked a small smile. "Yeah. That's when I figured out he wasn't just a rogue clone, too. Getting me into meet Vorkosigan—_Count Vorkosigan_—then seeing the two of them at lunch—at lunch with Count Vorkosigan!" Tung trailed off a bit, grinning at the memory despite the current conversation. "They were both trying to act formal, but the Admiral kept glancing at him, looking as if he half-expected to be lectured, and the Count couldn't stop smiling proudly. It was possibly some of the poorest acting I've ever seen."

"I suppose we proved ourselves to those military-crazed Barrayarans with that whole escapade, too, seeing as he came back," Bel added, feeling oddly pleased.

"Perhaps captains of mercenary starships shouldn't accuse others of being 'military-crazed'," Tung pointed out. Bel muttered "Pot to kettle." Tung ignored it.

The conversation lulled for a minute as each processed the newly affirmed information. Finally, Bel burst out, "So what are we supposed to do about this?"

"Well," said Tung objectively, "you haven't told anybody else, have you?"

"No!" it insisted. "I figured you ought to know first, if at all."

"Then it's just the two of us, plus Elena, Baz, and Arde, and they were all meant to know."

"I'll bet you Quinn knows," Bel mentioned.

"Sure," Tung conceded, "Quinn too. My point is that it's contained. We can forget about it, keep the secret, pretend this never happened."

Bel was incredulous. "You're okay with that? Just let ourselves be a secret Barrayaran security force, so secret most of the fleet doesn't know?"

"You have a better alternative?" Tung asked unsympathetically. "I've actually thought about this, you know. Maybe it's a good thing to have a base, not be totally free-wheeling mercenaries, ready to do battle for whoever pays. A bit of consistency never hurts."

"But against the will and knowledge of the people?" it responded hotly, Betan upbringing rising in righteous revolt.

"It's not like we're going to join the Barraryaran Imperial Academy, Bel! We just happen to have an employer who uses us repeatedly. Besides, you know you're resisting on principle. You're besotted with the monomaniacal little—"

"He's the best commander we've had!" Bel shouted defensively.

"Well there you go then," Tung replied coolly. "Best commander we've ever had. He just...has unusual friends."

"Yeah, like us," said Bel, half jokingly.

Tung gave a wry smile. "You'd better get those pins back in the Admiral's drawer before he returns from the _Triumph_."

Bel stood. "Yes." Its mouth quirked up. "At least we're likely to be paid for everything."

"Unless Barrayar goes bankrupt," he countered, then considered. "They could always sell Sergyar, I suppose." Now Tung was stifling a smile as well.

"Oh no, then I would feel guilty," Bel smirked, and turned toward the door. But as Tung turned back to his comconsole, it spun around and snatched a handful of blank flimsies from the printer tray. "Bye now!" Bel tossed over its shoulder as it left the office.

Closing the door, Bel could hear Tung grumble about insubordination. It smirked again, but hurried towards the Admiral's office. Now that it had more flimsies, there was no reason to dawdle. This had to be done quickly, and promptly forgotten.


End file.
